


and the devil will drag you under (by the sharp lapel of your checkered coat)

by bluestockingbaby



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Brain Damage, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, F/M, Hate at First Sight, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Updates infrequently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16116050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestockingbaby/pseuds/bluestockingbaby
Summary: Benny had everything he wanted, power, caps, the Chairmen, and a seat in New Vegas as House’s second-in-command. He really shouldn’t have shot that Courier.Another Benny/Courier Six story





	and the devil will drag you under (by the sharp lapel of your checkered coat)

It was night when Courier Six woke, trussed up and dizzy on the desert gravel. She eased up through the growing pains and panic, straining at the ropes around her dusty rig. No hat, no weight at her side, the bag was gone, and with it the package. No rifle, no revolver, no knife. Christo. Voices started fading back in, three male, and all in front of her. She twisted to see better in the dozy moonlight. “You got what you were after, so pay up.” Two tribals and one checked suit in the middle. Each at least a buck-sixty to her buck-thirty. “You’re crying in the rain, pally.” came a nasally, cultivated New Vegas voice from Ugly Suit Man. There was a chance she could talk her way out of this, especially if they had bothered to tie her up instead of killing her straight out. No reasonably socialized person killed Couriers. “Guess who’s waking up?” boomed the first voice again. Shit. Catalina really didn’t like the look of the shovel in Mohawk Tribal’s hand. She tried for a smile anyway. “Please, my name is Catalina. Lina Romero. My friends call me Sixer.”

Benny didn’t especially want to kill the courier in front of him. Killing your postmen, no matter what they were carrying, was a hell of a way to run your business. He hadn’t become the head of the Chairmen by being squeamish, and hell, this was the last loose end before he could leg it back to The Tops. No more walking the Mojave. This whole business had gotten too damned messy, but when you played on the Strip, you played by House’s rules. Benny took another drag off his cigarette. “Time to cash out.” he said, pulling the chip out of his jacket pocket and flipping it through his fingers. “Would you get it over with?” Murphy grunted at him, as the Courier worked at the ropes on her skinny wrists even harder. “Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?” Benny drawled. The chip in his hand glinted as brightly as the handgun he pulled dramatically from his jacket. “You’ve made your last delivery, kid.” 

Catalina tensed. The chip. What was the chip for? What was so important about the goddamned chip? “No se retrase, Oh bendita señora, que me ayude…” Adrenaline spiked through the Courier’s body, clouding everything until all she could think of was the package. She barely heard the man remark “Sorry you got mixed up in this scene.” No, you would be sorry, you sorry fucking cabron, because I was going to haunt you all over the goddamned Strip for the fucking package. He was still talking. Get it over with. Get it over with now. Pull the trigger before I start screaming. 

“From where you’re kneeling, this must seem like an eighteen-karat run of bad luck, but the truth is, the game was rigged from the start.” Courier Six stared at Benny as he squeezed the trigger, aiming right between her eyes. Three shots cracked the cool night air, one slinging wide, one slicing the top of her ear, and one slamming into her right temple, distorting her face as she fell into the shallow grave. Benny turned away, dropped his last cigarette on the ground, and started heading out, leaving the two Khans to shovel some dirt onto the still-twitching Tribal Courier. There was one contender that wouldn’t be running after anyone.

As dawn slipped over the shabby Goodsprings Cemetery, a Securitron frantically rolled down the hill, calling for Doc Mitchell. The Courier in his metal arms was barely breathing, most of her face covered with grit and blood. The doctor brought her in, took one look and started piling up antiseptic, bandages, and stimpaks. If she survived, it was going to be a long week.

**Author's Note:**

> “No se retrase, Oh bendita señora, que me ayude…” - Delay not, Blessed Lady, to help me… This is part of the Prayer to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I am not a Spanish speaker, so if I get anything wrong, I would like to know so that I can fix it. I imagined that plenty of Christian beliefs would survive the Great War, and some aspects were possibly syncretized with other religious traditions around the Southwest.
> 
> Title is from the song “Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat” from Guys and Dolls. I was surprised no one had used that line in relation to Benny yet, so I had to write something myself! This is my first fic.
> 
> Comments and critique are welcome!


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